Grotesque
by obaona
Summary: Gruesome vignette written for Halloween.


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**Title**: Grotesque __

**Summary**: A medical examiner examines a most unusual body.   
**Note**: Rather icky, as you should be able to tell from the summary. :p  
**A/N**: Unbeta'ed, just written today. (Again, why torment my betas?)

**Feedback**: Adored, always.

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I hum tunelessly – I'm somewhat tone deaf – and enter my, eh, workspace, which is comprised of a big, steel room with a great many coffins of various sizes in the wall. What can I say? I examine dead bodies to see what killed them; it's my job. Of course, that means I get to deal with a lot of dead bodies – a good many of them alien – but it's a living. 

I work here alone, naturally. This place is a distant outpost, only about ten thousand workers in the mines. It's a harsh environment, very dangerous. The planet is literally covered in volcanoes, and they're all fairly active. Of course, that's what allows the miners to mine. I forget what they mine exactly. Something important enough that during the Clone Wars we had a small detachment of troopers.

The Republic assigned me here before that, of course. I didn't mind, much. I have my work, my hobbies – geology is my first love, you know – and that's enough. I suppose now that the 'New Order' is in charge they'll keep me here. Really, 'New Order'? What a stupid name. What are they going to do in a few hundred years? It'll hardly be 'new' then.

Anyway. The miners die with enough frequency to keep me busy, and their deaths have to confirmed as being for whatever cause due to Republic – oh, sorry, 'New Order' – regulations. For some reason, some bureaucrat decided to give me a decent facility – I have spaces for nearly a hundred bodies, not that I actually use all of those at one time. But it makes my examination room rather large, as for some reason the designers decided to combine storage with examination. Thankfully they left my office separate.

I got a message today that they found a body so burned they couldn't identify it – and none of the miners have been reported missing. I walk over to one of the storage containers, the one the miners said they put the body in, and open it. 

Oh, this will be a challenge. The body is badly burned, from head to toe. I can't make out much of the clothing, and if there was any identification, it's gone by now. Humming thoughtfully, I have my droid assistant put the body on the examination table. Most curious. The body is lax, not rigid, as it should be if I'm getting the time of death right. It could have only been around for a certain amount of time before the miners found it.

Something about the body just strikes me as odd. I get the feeling it's moving, but I know that's not the case. In fact, it's not unusual for some species to twitch and moan for up to two weeks after their deaths. I'm pretty sure this specimen is human, but you never know.

Really, this examiner business isn't like most people think it is. Sure, you see dead bodies on a daily basis, but you get used to that. As long as you don't think about much. See tissue, not people. It does make you wonder what life is . . . is it purely material, or is there something more there? What does that make a dead body? Ah, well, that's for the philosophers to really decide. 

I start activating my equipments, my lovelies. They do a lot of my work for me. You didn't think I actually poked and prodded the body myself, did you? No, certainly not. Not unless I really have to, and I usually don't. I like to be tidy. Everything in here is spotless, of course – I'm a bit of a clean freak, though I suppose that's a good thing in a morgue. In fact, I'm convinced this is probably the cleanest spot on the whole planet. Ironic, eh, that only when they're dead do any of the miners get clean?

I chortle. It _is_ amusing.

I glance over at the readouts. Have to get down to business, now. Well, that's odd. I've got a scanner of damn good quality, but it seems to be saying that the body is alive, which simply isn't possible, in the condition it's in. According to it, the heart is beating, but not with enough force to get blood to all the extremities. Nonetheless, it's reporting that blood is getting to the extremities.

Obviously, I'm going to have to get this checked. No invisible force is keeping this body alive. And it certainly isn't keeping alive by sheer force of will – that's for tales, not real life. Stupid machine. 

Well, if it's not working, I guess I'll have to examine the body myself. I can get the thing fixed tomorrow. The mining operation has a few mechanics. Besides, isn't it good to keep up your skills? According to the school I got my degree at, yes. But then, those who can't, teach.

I walk around my equipment, and lean in close to look at the body. It really is quite grotesque. Most of the flesh is burned and in tatters, and it appears it didn't have a right hand to begin with. My, my. The face seems to be the best off – who knows, maybe the fellow threw his arms over his face in attempt to protect it. A young male, perhaps? I squint, and look closer.

Well I'll be – the eyes seem to be intact, judging from the condition of the skin around them. I put my hand on them, to lift the eyelids and see if they're clouded or anything, and –

I choke. My throat is being squeezed painfully. I have to breath. I stare down at the body, and oh Force, it's moving it's moving. A hand has come up, and it's gripping my throat, and the eyes are open and they're blue. I can see it's throat moving, and I can't believe this, it can't be alive, but it speaks.

"Pa – Padmé . . ." The skin over it's throat is stretching painfully, and it won't let go of me. 

I'm gasping, and I start to tear at it's hand, and it's flesh is warm and desiccate against my fingers, I need to breathe, I need to breathe – 

**[fin]**


End file.
